Black Shadows
by DualKatanas
Summary: Two siblings have had nothing but each other for most of their lives. Then the Dark Brotherhood welcomes them with open arms, offering them a new family, a new way of life. But the life of an assassin is fraught with death and betrayal; danger threatens the family at every turn, and trust is a fool's refuge. Set in the BaS universe. Constructive criticism appreciated.
1. Blood on the Road

**A/N: And so, over a year and a half since the end of Blood and Steel, you finally get the start of the Oblivion Dark Brotherhood fic I always promised my readers. It IS set in the Blood and Steel universe, so it's helpful if you've read that first, but not essential. I'll extrapolate more in the ending Author's Note, but for now I'll tell you that I intend to be going through the DB questline while adding my own original twists on things. Updates are likely to be variable (read: slow), but, as ever, leaving a review is highly desirable; it helps me improve and encourages me to write the next chapter faster. And now, I'll let you get on with reading.**

* * *

**Chapter One: Blood on the Road**

The moons were shining brightly on Anvil; the sky was clear of cloud but the first chills of autumn could be felt on the sea wind that buffeted the harbour. Despite the sun having set three hours previously, there was much activity on the docks, mostly consisting of drunken sailors looking for the nearest brawl. The creaking of worn hulls filled the air; recent storms had not been kind to seafarers, and the prevailing economic uncertainty meant there was little money to repair their ailing vessels. Even so, sailors always managed to find coin to spend on drink and women, and the various inns and taverns lining the waterfront insured there was always a place to spend it. The rest of the city had seen a sharp drop in crime since Hieronymus Lex had become Guard Captain a few months ago, but the docks at night were still avoided by all but the most intrepid guard patrols.

Celendil breathed deeply as he walked along the main street of the harbour, the salty tang of the sea breeze mingling with the sweat of burly men eager to forget their worries after a hard day's work. He was barely five feet tall, and his small frame allowed the Bosmer to nimbly dodge around the drunken sailors who might otherwise have trodden on him. His well-cut linen tunic was simple and functional; it would help stave off the heat of the jungles of Valenwood, but nothing that would alert a thief to the potential of money to be made. A leather jerkin protected his chest and back, and a hand casually resting on his dirk warned off any that might attempt to take advantage of the lone elf out of sight of the guards.

Edging around a fight between a group of Nord sailors and some belligerent dock workers, the Wood Elf found himself smiling. Anvil had never changed, not since the first time he'd come here as an innocent seventeen year-old. He was seventy-six now, and he had learned that while there was much in life that was always changing, there was also much that would always stay the same. Emperors came and went, dynasties rose and fell, but life for the common people went on. He and his brother had lost almost everything in the Oblivion Crisis, but they had simply squared their shoulders and kept going.

His destination was one of the smaller taverns of the Waterfront called the Flowing Bowl. It wasn't the biggest or the best place to stay, but it offered value for money and good food, and they'd always enjoyed a good relationship with the proprietors, Bosmeri twins Caenlorn and Maenlorn. The privacy to conduct legally ambiguous business dealings was a bonus. Skirting around another brawl, he swung open the door to the tavern and slipped inside, a wave of heat and noise washing over him.

Brushing his shoulder-length auburn hair out of his face, Celendil smiled as he looked around. The fire roaring in the hearth illuminated the spacious common room, which was nearly filled with regulars and the usual suspects. His eyes swept the tables, passing over the sailors and dock workers, lingering slightly on those he didn't recognise: a few robed Altmer; three Imperials who had the look of merchants about them; a pair of armoured Redguards; a gang of Nords who were already drunk; a pair of Khajiit that looked like they were on edge.

He walked past them all and sat down at a table in the far corner from the door where he could observe most of the common room. Settling back in his chair and smiling as the tension eased from his back, he motioned for a barmaid to bring him his usual before finally turning to look at the other occupant of the table.

His older brother Enthor resembled him in numerous ways; piercing blue eyes that missed little were set in a pale narrow face that rarely smiled, and his auburn hair was scraped back into a tight braid that hung to his waist. A scar stretched across his cheek and he was missing part of his earlobe, a reminder of the arrow that had almost ended his life in one of the many battles he'd fought to protect his wagons. His clothing was embroidered linen with touches of lace at the cuffs; he'd dressed much more extravagantly in the past, before they'd lost nearly everything to rampaging Daedra in the Oblivion Crisis. The only greeting he offered his kin was a brief nod.

Knowing his brother detested wasting time with small talk, Celendil got right to the point. "Bad news. The Fighters Guild is badly overstretched at the moment, what with all the banditry everywhere. They can only offer us one Guildsman as escort, and even then he'd have to turn back after a day."

Enthor grunted. "Darius and Jarek are useless for anything more complicated than moving goods or whipping horses. I can fight, but I am no warrior. We cannot rely on only you to protect us all the way to the City, Celendil. You should have pressed the Guild harder."

Celendil snorted. "Cheer up, Sourguts. The night is young yet. I'll bet we can find mercenaries around. At least the roads aren't as bad as they were forty years ago."

"Yet. We might be down to just one wagon, but those bandits will still rip it apart looking for gold or women." The merchant looked into his tankard and grimaced before drinking. He was used to better fare.

"Well, I'll keep looking. You're sure we're ready to go at the crack of dawn?" A slightly contemptuous look was the only answer he needed. "Right. And you're sure we won't stop at Kvatch?"

Enthor's eyebrows drew down. "We will stop at Skingrad to break the journey. I see no reason to tire the horses dragging the wagon up that mountainside just to visit a broken, decrepit city and haul it all the way back down again in the morning. There is nothing in Kvatch for us. _Nothing_. Now stop wasting time and find us protection."

Celendil sighed, drumming his fingers on the table as the barmaid arrived with his beer. He grabbed it and took a few gulps before looking around the tavern, casting his trained eye over the unfamiliar patrons and assessing them. His attention was drawn to the Redguards as one of them rose from her seat and walked over to their table. "I have good hearing," she explained. "You're looking for hired help?"

The younger Bosmer raised an eyebrow as he looked her over. She was of average height and build for a Redguard, with a confident demeanour and a way of standing that reminded him of a coiled spring, ready to pounce at a moment's notice. Her skin was light brown with a reddish tint, but the most obvious thing that caught the eye was the well-fitting white chitin armour that covered her from neck to toe; it was rarely seen outside Morrowind. She seemed young, mid-twenties at most, but Celendil could tell she had experience merely from looking into her dark brown eyes; she had seen battle, that was certain. No scars marred her round face; no doubt she would consider it a failure on her part if a blade got close enough to mark her skin or armour. Her black hair was neatly arranged in a row of thin braids that hung to her shoulder blades. "My brother and me can be good bodyguards, for the right price." A smile plucked at her full lips as she casually rested a hand on the sabre at her hip.

"What kind of price?" asked Celendil, leaning forward and examining the row of knives hanging from her belt before retuning his gaze to her eyes.

"That would depend on what your profits are. Wouldn't want to drive you out of business now, would we?" The Redguard slowly eased herself down on the seat opposite them.

"Everyone working for me gets paid in percentages," said Enthor, his voice crisp and businesslike as usual. "You will be no exception. We have one wagon, going to the Imperial City."

"Sounds like all you need is me and my brother. We're _very_ good at what we do." Her voice was sultry, tempting. "I just hope you're a good merchant with good profits. We're all in this to make money, after all..."

"Do not question my business acumen. Do you both have horses?"

"We do. How long will you take to reach the City?"

"Nine days if all goes well, including a brief stop in Skingrad. I will offer each of you three percent of the profits."

She threw back her head and laughed. "Yeah, I had you down as being a stingy sod. Six percent each, and you'll live to pay us."

Celendil winced. Someone as tight-fisted as his brother would never let over a tenth of the profits out of his hand willingly, and he was already paying Darius and Jarek two percent each. "The bandits aren't nearly as bad between Skingrad and the City," he put in. "We don't really need you after that."

She grinned, flashing her brilliant white teeth. "Only takes a single raid to ruin your whole life."

Enthor stopped grinding his teeth for long enough to open his mouth. "Five percent each. If you will not take that, then you can stop wasting our time."

The Redguard chuckled and stretched out her hand. "From here to the Imperial City. Five percent."

Celendil raised an eyebrow. "And your brother doesn't get a say in this?"

"You seem to be trusting _your_ brother to be doing all the negotiating." She smiled as Enthor suspiciously gripped her hand for a mere second before releasing it. "When do we leave?"

"Tomorrow at dawn," replied Enthor, picking up his tankard. "We will be at the stables. Ask for Enthor and Celendil if you need directions. Do not be late."

The Redguard's smile widened as she sprang out of her chair. "I'm sure it'll be a pleasure. My name's Nadia, by the way, and the hulking brute over there is Trevon." She pointed to the table she'd come from; sitting there was a Redguard who Celendil assumed was her brother. At her gesture he rose and walked over to stand beside her, staring down at the Bosmer with narrowed eyes.

He was only a few inches taller than his sister, but much broader, clad in full plate armour that was tinted a dull blue with a jet-black raven prominently embossed across the breastplate. The similarities to Nadia were obvious – the same eyes, the same rounded face – but his features had a harder, more determined cast to them. His black hair was gathered in a single thick braid that hung to his elbow, and a neatly-trimmed beard decorated his lower face. A steel shield, scarred and pitted from heavy usage, was slung from his back, and a heavy falchion hung from a belt of steel links around his waist. "You don't look so rich," he said, his voice deep and guttural. "You're sure they're worth it, Nadia?"

"Only fools show off their wealth in times like this," cut in Celendil, pointedly not looking in his brother's direction. "We have gold. The only thing in question is your reliability."

Trevon's eyes were cold as they met his. "We'll be there," he grunted. He spun on his heel and headed for the stairs leading to the upper levels, the floorboards creaking under his weight.

"Don't mind him. He's not the friendly sort." Nadia smiled at her brother's retreating back before looking between the two Bosmer. "Are there any other members of your group?"

"Two Imperial lackeys," replied Celendil, standing and stretching. "They're not good for much. That's why we need you to help us." He motioned his head towards the two unstrung bows behind their chairs to make sure she knew they weren't completely helpless. "Tomorrow at dawn, at the stables. Don't be late."

She grinned. "If we say we'll do something, we'll do it. See you in the morning." The mercenary turned and sauntered off after her brother. Celendil watched her go, swigging the last dregs of beer from his tankard.

"Did you see the raven on his armour?" asked Enthor, as if anyone with eyes could have missed it. "We will have to be even more cautious than usual with these two."

"Not everyone wearing a raven is a thief or a liar. Some just like the design. He might not even have heard of Nocturnal." Celendil tossed a septim onto the table for the barmaid to collect later. "Either way, I'm heading to bed. Given that we won't be trusting them to hold a watch alone, I'll need all the sleep I can get right now."

"I do not trust them within ten feet of the wagon. Or us. It is like hiring lions to protect us from wolves. But we have little choice, if the Guild will not help us. I trust no mercenary."

"You don't trust _anyone_, Sourguts."

"I trust you." Enthor looked into his brother's eyes and paused. "And I trusted my wife. You are the only people I have _ever_ trusted. No one else."

Celendil returned the merchant's gaze; for the briefest second his temper flared, and he felt nothing but contempt for the tight-fisted, uncaring, emotionless wretch sat before him. "And you wonder why she left," he muttered, his voice full of scorn.

"No. I know why she left. But there is nothing more to say about the matter, with you or anyone." Enthor made a dismissive gesture. "Go and get your sleep. You were right. You will need it."

The younger Bosmer sighed, shaking his head as he turned towards the stairs. Tomorrow was going to be a long day. It would be a long week. But he would endure. He always had.

* * *

The last rays of the sun faded from the sky as the large wagon trundled east along the Gold Road. Enthor regarded the approaching darkness with a mixture of relief and anxiety; it had been a long day but it would be an even longer night. Their slow progress meant they were halfway between the Brina Cross Inn and the Gottshaw Inn, and it was too risky to push on in darkness; it would aid the bandits and increase the risk of breaking a wheel. The forest was still sparse this close to the coast, but there was more than enough cover for them if they got off the road.

Celendil, Trevon and Nadia had circled the wagon on their horses all day, and the mercenaries had earned their pay once already by driving off a determined group of bandits that had pounced shortly after noon. The Redguards were clearly experienced and capable, their feats only matched by Enthor's growing distrust of them. His position on the seat of the wagon alongside Darius and Jarek meant he couldn't move away whenever Nadia pulled up alongside to engage him in conversation, which was often. She had barely stopped talking to him or Celendil all day, and while most of her chatter was banal and annoying, he couldn't shake off the feeling that she was probing for information.

His usual paranoia was only increased by the glimpses of bandits sighted through the trees, peering at the wagon before deciding that the risk was too great. More than once the two Bosmer had sent arrows their way to send a message, but for the most part they had rationed their ammunition. They would need it for the long night to come, where darkness would embolden even the most cowardly of thieves. He gave the signal to stop. Jarek pulled on the reins and the four cart horses jolted to a halt.

Standing up on the seat, Enthor gazed off to the side of the road. "We will camp here for the night," he announced. "Celendil, go and find a suitable clearing. Jarek, follow him." He grabbed his bow and jumped down to the road, peering into the trees. Trevon pulled up beside him, glancing down from his powerful black stallion. His dark blue cloak and armour helped them both blend into the night in a way that made the Wood Elf feel uncomfortable.

"The night hides many things," he said. "I'll circle round to make sure we're not disturbed." Before the Bosmer could reply he had dug in his heels and ridden off into the night, man and horse both blending in with the shadows. Enthor grimaced and turned to watch the wagon make its cautious way off the road, thankful for the hard-packed earth that was so unlike the soft soils of Valenwood. He followed it, keeping an arrow nocked; there was no doubt that the darkness hid more than one outlaw.

Ten minutes later, Darius and Jarek had lit torches and were securing the wagon for the night as Celendil and Nadia made camp. Enthor patrolled the perimeter of the clearing they'd chosen, looking around suspiciously. They were quite far from the road, hidden from it completely by a thick grove of trees. To the north the forest was more sparse, presenting them with a view of the plains bathed in moonlight. The merchant looked up at the moons just in time to see a thick bank of cloud drift in front of Masser. He shivered; the nights were getting colder.

"Are you cold?" asked Nadia from directly behind him. He spun and stared at her, not quite believing that he had failed to hear an armoured mercenary sneaking up behind him. She wore a slight smirk as she folded her arms. "Hearing not what it used to be? Getting a bit old?"

"My hearing will still be perfect half a century from now. You cannot say the same." He rammed his arrow back into its quiver and slung his bow onto his back. "Is the campsite secure?"

"As secure as it'll ever be. Trevon's scaring the shit out of any bandit close enough to bother us, I'll wager. He'll be back soon." She threw an arm around his shoulders and guided him over to the campfire that Celendil was building, ignoring his grunts of disapproval. "So, how's the watch shift going to work?"

He shrugged out of her grasp and went to lean against a tree on the opposite side of the clearing to the wagon, ensuring he could see everything of importance. "You and Celendil will take the first shift. Then Darius and Jarek. Last will be Trevon and I."

The Redguard moved to lean further around on the same tree as him, ensuring he had to twist his head to keep her in sight. "Sounds fair to me. You got any meat you want to roast when Cel finally gets his fire going?" She raised a hand to brush back a braid that had fallen across her face. A chill wind gusted across the clearing.

"I have-" Enthor was cut off as every torch they had lit was suddenly snuffed out, plunging them into darkness. He blinked rapidly to try to force his eyes to adjust, reaching for his bow. Celendil rose from tending the unlit campfire, turning towards the wagon, hand going to his sword.

"I heard something," he warned, peering out into the darkness. "Darius? Jarek?" No answer. The Bosmer's sword rasped from his scabbard. Enthor nocked an arrow to his bow. Beside him, he heard Nadia draw one of her daggers. "For the love of Y'ffre, what-"

The darkness beside him seemed to _ripple_. Enthor tried to shout a warning, only to find himself choking on his own blood as Nadia rammed a dagger into his ribs. He dropped his bow and frantically tried to reach his own sword, but she grabbed his arm and shoved him to his knees. She gripped his hair in her free hand and wrenched his head back. "You'll want to watch this," she whispered in his ear.

Celendil had turned towards them, raising his sword. Behind him the night seemed to come alive, the darkness shifting as it revealed Trevon stepping forward, his heavy falchion punching through the Wood Elf's spine. Celendil twisted as he fell, somehow keeping hold of his sword, but the Redguard kicked it out of his hand and pinned him to the ground with his boot. The Bosmer reached for his dirk, only for the treacherous mercenary to hack through his shoulder. Enthor could only watch in helpless horror as the bloody blade rose once more.

"Too bad he tried to deny his fate," remarked Nadia, tightening her grip on his skull. "My brother can be such an _artist_ when he wants to be." The merchant tried to respond, to fight back, but his strength was fading rapidly, drained from him by some kind of spell. Trevon's falchion tore through Celendil's chest. His brother jerked once then lay still, blank eyes gazing up at the night sky.

"Their two pet Imperials are dead," said Trevon, sounding like he was merely commenting on the weather as he examined the blood staining his weapon. "Are you going to take your time with that one?"

"I've already punctured a lung and drained much of his strength. He's not long for this world." Nadia reached down and wrenched her dagger from Enthor's ribcage before letting him topple forward onto the dry grass. He lacked the strength to do anything but stare up at his murderer, her features nearly indistinguishable in the gloom. "It's a fine night for killing, isn't it?"

"The Daughter of Twilight has blessed us. I'll start digging their grave. You search the wagon when you're done with him."

Nadia grinned and kicked the helpless merchant onto his back, kneeling beside him and holding up the dagger coated with his blood for him to examine. "You know, Enthor, you tried to save as much as you could, spend as little as you could, squeeze an extra septim out of everything..." Her smile widened, baring her teeth. "Doesn't really seem worth all that much now, does it?"

A weak rasp was all he could muster in reply; his sight was rapidly dimming_._

"Shame, really. You're probably older than I'll ever be, and yet, you've never really lived. Life's about pleasure, about enjoying yourself. Maybe you and your brother can have an argument when you meet him in... well, wherever you'll end up." She rammed the dagger into his chest. The last thing Enthor would ever see was his murderer's smile as she watched him die.

* * *

The wagon was missing almost half its planks before Nadia finally found what she was looking for; a large, heavy sack that clinked when she dragged it out of its hiding place under the wagon's floor. Grunting at its weight, she heaved it to the ground before lightly jumping down and examining the complex knot. Catching her tongue between her teeth, she removed her gauntlets and set to work, deftly unravelling the knot until the rope came loose in her hands. Forcing open the neck of the sack, she turned it upside down and watched gleefully as several heavy bags fell out, clinking loudly as they hit the grass.

"Looks like we've struck gold!" she called over to her brother, who had dragged the four bodies over to the shallow grave he was digging. They had no torches lit but the spells he was maintaining on both of them ensured they could see as well as in daylight. A grunt was her only answer as she started to work on the knot of one of the smaller bags. This one didn't take so long and soon she was able to open the neck as far as the drawstrings would allow. She put her hand in, immersing it in the coins, pushed deeper. It wasn't until her arm was almost completely submerged up to the shoulder that she was finally able to clutch the fabric on the other side of the bag. A delighted smile spread across her face.

"Trevon! It's even better than I thought! Told you my eye was good!" She stood and laughed up at the night sky. "We're _rich_!"

"Great," came the gruff response. "Now come over here and help me bury them." They were both speaking Yoku, as they always did when alone; even if anyone could overhear, they wouldn't have any idea what was being said.

Nadia set the enchanted bag down carefully and moved over to help him. Using the shovel they'd found in the wagon, he'd dug a narrow trench just deep and wide enough to hold four bodies without any limbs poking out. She leaned down and grabbed the ankles of one of the Imperials; her brother grabbed his wrists and they slung him into the pit. A prickling on the back of her neck made her frown; she spun and examined the forest around them, but there was nothing visible.

"What is it?" asked Trevon, moving to stand beside her, his hand resting on his falchion.

"Feels like we're being watched." She cast a spell of life detection and looked around. The only life forms within the radius of her spell were a few small creatures, probably foxes or rabbits. "There's no one else here, but..." she shrugged, hoping the sensation would go away.

"All the more reason to finish quickly." He kicked the other Imperial into the pit, leaning in to make sure he was pressed firmly down against the earth. "Hurry up."

Nadia shook her head and stooped to help him throw what remained of Celendil into the grave. One of his arms fell off as he hit the bodies below him; she picked it up and tucked it under his corpse. "Are you sure they're all going to be fully covered?" she asked. Her only response was a surly look indicating that she should know better than to ask such a question. She laughed and slapped her brother on the pauldron before moving over to grab Enthor's wrists.

The Bosmer's eyes were still open. A mixture of horror and regret was evident on his face. "You know, I think he might have been lying when he said he didn't have any other family," she noted as they shoved him into the grave. A grunt was her response as Trevon picked up the shovel and started throwing earth over the bodies. She moved around the trench, making sure any loose limbs were safely tucked inside, periodically looking up and scanning their surroundings, but there were no new life forms within range. The feeling of being watched was slowly fading, but it still made her uncomfortable. "Don't you feel that itch at the back of your neck, like you're being watched?" she asked her brother.

"What I feel is time passing. We should be away from here as soon as possible."

Nadia nodded, pursing her lips as she helped him smooth the soil over the grave. It wouldn't take long for any investigators to find the bodies, but at least it was better than leaving them out in the open. Within a week they would be out of Cyrodiil anyway. With the amount of gold they'd stolen they could live easily for a long time in whatever part of the Empire they chose to visit next. As soon as the earth had some semblance of disguise about it, she moved over to the enchanted bags, stuffing them back into the sack and pulling the drawstrings tight. "Didn't I tell you this Wood Elf was a good mark?" Her brother made a non-committal grunt as he started cutting the cart horses free. She laughed. "Come on, now, admit my eye struck gold this time."

"All right. You did good. Well done. Job's not over yet." He finished chopping through the wagon harness and slapped the horses, sending them fleeing from the immobile wagon at a canter.

"Yeah, you need to put those shoulders to work and carry this to our horses." Nadia whistled and her horse, a sleek gelding named Whisper, obediently trotted up. "Better put it on him; Farstrider can barely take the weight of your fat arse and armour, let alone this on top."

Trevon snorted. "At least he doesn't take fright at an owl hooting." He heaved the bulging sack across his shoulders, staggering only slightly under the weight before placing it as gently as he could behind Whisper's saddle. "You'd better make sure this doesn't fall off."

Nadia chuckled. "If it did, I know you'd find it when you and your fat stallion are catching up long behind us." She helped him secure their prize to the saddle. "We're headed to the Gottshaw Inn, I take it?"

"It's far enough away to be safe, and I'd rather we both get sleep this night." He checked the tautness of the ropes before heading over to his own horse, looking around to make sure they'd left nothing behind that would point an incriminating finger at two Redguard adventurers. Satisfied, he swung himself into his saddle in one deft move, patting the neck of his stallion and adjusting his cloak.

"No bandits within range right now," commented Nadia as she mounted Whisper, her life detection spell wearing off. "Hopefully they'll not be stupid enough to bother with us two moving quickly through the night." She whispered encouragement in her horse's ear as she turned him towards the road. "We ready?"

"Less talking. More riding." Trevon booted Farstrider past her. She followed, the two of them making their way carefully through the trees until they reached the Gold Road. It was clear in both directions. They turned east and spurred their horses to a canter, leaving the scene of their latest slaughter far behind them.

Just over an hour later, they arrived at the Gottshaw Inn, a small two-storey building with a tile roof and a welcoming glow lighting the windows. There was no ostler on duty in the adjacent stables, so they settled their horses themselves. Nadia cast a Feather spell on the sack of gold, enabling Trevon to easily take it off Whisper and tuck it under his arm. He dispelled the Night Eye spells and they walked into the Inn, pausing just inside the doorway for their eyes to adjust.

The common room was small and sparsely populated; two Imperial Guardsmen were drinking at a tiny table tucked away in a corner, and a few lone travellers were keeping to themselves. A fire crackled pleasantly in the hearth, and the Bosmer standing behind the bar offered them a small smile as they walked up. _Bosmer_, thought Nadia grimly. _I've had enough of Bosmer for one day_.

"Well met, travellers," he said, greeting them enthusiastically. "Don't get too many through here now that the roads are so dangerous. Can I offer you rooms for the night? A meal?"

"Just the one room between us," replied Nadia, giving him one of her most charming smiles. "And something to wet our throats, but the journey's tired us. We won't be long before retiring."

"Of course, of course. That'll be ten gold for the night." She dug into her belt pouch and found the requisite coins. "Thank you. Your room is up the stairs, first on the right. I'm Foroch; feel free to call on me if you need anything." His gaze flitted towards Trevon for a second before swiftly dropping to the bar. She didn't blame him; her brother was an intimidating sight at the best of times.

"We'll have two ales. Make them quick." Trevon turned from the bar and walked over to the table in the far corner from the Guardsmen, the old timbers creaking under his boots. Unclasping his cloak, he threw it over the back of his chair before settling down in it, ignoring the protests of the aged wood. "This place seems secure enough," he said, switching to Yoku as Nadia joined him.

"Better than camping by the road and having to keep watch," she agreed, neatly folding her cloak and laying it on the chair next to her.

"So, where next? From what you've been saying, we've got enough gold to get by for a few months."

She laughed, tugging off her gauntlets. "We could live like kings for a few months, though that might be a bit suspicious." The Redguard leaned back in her chair, smiling at the man across from her. "We could go back to Morrowind. We've never been to Vvardenfell."

He gave a slight shake of his head. "Word has it there might be trouble brewing between Helseth and the Nerevarine. A civil war might be exciting, but I'd rather not get too caught up in it." Their drinks arrived, Foroch placing a mug of ale in front of each of them before bobbing a quick bow and walking backwards away from them.

Nadia picked up her ale and sipped at it. A cheap, thick brew, but better than nothing. "How about paying a visit back home? I hear they're organising Orc hunts in the Dragontails." A fierce grin crept across her face. "No easy prey, them."

"Depends on the Orc. What about Skyrim?"

She snorted. "Please. It's already autumn now. I'm not one for spending a winter shivering in front of the fire while the Nords drink mead and laugh at you."

"The Rift doesn't get it so bad in winter. It's somewhere to consider."

"True enough. Guess we'd better be heading east tomorrow anyway." She gulped down some more of her ale and grimaced. "Barely worth paying for." She flicked a couple of septims onto the table and rose. "The sooner we get to sleep, the sooner we leave tomorrow. You coming?"

He shoved his chair back and stood. "I wouldn't want to trigger your wards. Let's see how many lice the bed has."

They received a nervous nod from Foroch as they swept past the bar. The other patrons barely looked up from their drinks. Ignoring the protests of the rickety stairs, the two Redguards reached the upper level and pushed open the first door they came to on their right.

It was a tiny, cramped cubicle with barely enough room for a single bed and a table, both rammed against one of the walls. There were some holes in the bare planks of the floor, and the small window's frame was falling apart. Trevon slammed the door shut behind them, plunging them into darkness; the illumination provided by the dark night sky outside was meagre and the candle on the table was unlit. He carefully placed the sack of gold on the floor before shoving it under the bed with his boot and throwing down the pack he'd brought from their saddlebags. "Barely any room for the bedroll," he observed. "Looks like it'll have to be you sleeping on it. I can't fit on that floor and the bed won't take both of us."

"It would if you lost some weight, you chunky oaf," she replied, poking him in the stomach as she unbuckled her belt.

"Then you'd need to find another pack mule. Help me with my armour. I can barely turn around in here."

"And whose fault is that?" She rolled her eyes but nonetheless moved to help him with the various straps of his plate armour, aided by the Night Eye spell he'd just cast on both of them. Long experience speeded the process, and soon they were both carefully piling their respective armour and weapons where they would be easily accessible. Nadia stepped up to the door and made sure it was firmly closed before starting to prepare the ward that would warn her with a loud noise should anyone pass through it. Upon completing the spell she nodded to her sibling. "Go for it, Trev."

He ran a hand down the invisible threshold, his Illusion magic masking it from magical detection. Nadia felt a slight pang of jealousy; while she was skilled with Alteration and Mysticism, she could never hope to match her brother's skill with the illusory arts; he had been born in the shadows. Upon examining the window, she concluded it was far too small to easily crawl through and the latch was jammed shut anyway. Maintaining more than one ward in her sleep was likely to give her troubled dreams in any case. She stripped to her underclothes and lay down on the bedroll, shoving a dagger under the pillow as she attempted to find a comfortable position. The bed next to her groaned under Trevon's weight as he clambered into it, releasing the Night Eye spells he was maintaining.

Nadia rolled onto her back and lay silently for a few minutes, blinking as her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. An owl hooted just outside the window. "Trevon?"

A grunt emanated from the bed beside her. "What?"

"I remember, when we were little... I could never sleep until you read _Goodnight Mundus_ to me." A grin spread across her face.

He snorted. "I know it off by heart from all the times I read it. You're grown up now, though. Apparently." The bed frame creaked as he shifted his weight. "Sweet dreams, Nadia."

She smiled as she closed her eyes. "Sleep well." The blanket was itchy against her bare skin and she could feel the hard floor through the bedroll, but the day had been tiring and she'd slept in far worse places. Within minutes she was drifting off into the peaceful oblivion of deep sleep.

* * *

Nadia woke abruptly some time later, instantly alert. Something was wrong, very wrong. Instinctively she reached out for Trevon, her hand finding his leg; she could feel the muscles tensed, ready for action. Her ward hadn't alarmed her, but somehow there was a presence in the room, watching them, studying them. As she slipped her hand under her pillow, clutching her dagger, a sense of terror gripped her. The air grew cold, dry.

From the darkness a malevolent voice spoke. "You sleep rather soundly for murderers. That's good..."

* * *

**A/N: Firstly, many thanks to Rickard Steiner for proofreading this. If you're in need of a good Skyrim fic to read, head over and read his 'The Madness Challenge'.**

**And, secondly, I'm aware that this might well end on a cliched, overused cliffhanger, but it felt like a natural place to end the chapter for me. It's much shorter than my normal chapters, which are normally 10k+ in length, but shorter first chapters aren't anything unusual. Hopefully I've set up the start of things well enough. You'll find out more about the characters as the fic unfolds; I wanted to put my own stamp on this well-known questline, and having two protagonists rather than one seemed like one way of doing that, and there'll be other differences as well.**

**I'll remind you to review: you can only encourage me, and constructive criticism is always, ALWAYS welcome. Now that this first chapter is uploaded, I'll keep chugging away until I've finished the whole fic even if I get no reviews, but that'd be pretty demotivating. Any anonymous reviews will get a reply in the opening Author's Note of the next chapter. Speaking of the next chapter, hopefully I can conquer the writer's block and get it pumped out relatively soon, but you never know. Either way, let me know what you think; it's my desire to put an original spin on this already overdone tale.**


	2. A Knife in the Dark

**A/N: Firstly, a thousand apologies for making you wait over four and a half months for this chapter. A delay of that kind really is inexcusable; rest assured it won't happen again. Even if my arms fall off, I'll at least find some way to tell you that (knowing me, I'll keep on writing with my nose).**

**Moving on, massive thanks as ever to those who reviewed; keep those coming. Replies to those reviews:**

**talking muffin: No, I wouldn't say they're assassins either; they are, after all, just glorified thieves at this point in time, with no assassin training whatsoever. The Brotherhood will soon sort that out. And Nadia is fairly skilled at sneaking already, it just hasn't been shown yet.**

**Underpaid Critic: Ah, yes, you sent that Forrester quote at me before back in BaS (or, at least, someone did). Looking back at the first chapter, I couldn't see anything TOO wrong with that semi-colon use... but then, these are my eyes I'm using, and you're not the only one pointing this out. I went over this chapter and I feel I've used proportionally less semi-colons (replacing them mainly with full stops. I have no idea how an ellipsis would replace a semi-colon).**

**I hope you don't think I don't do my research; I've sunk hundreds of hours into both Morrowind and Skyrim and I practically live on UESP. Azura would more likely be called Mistress of Twilight; Daughter of Twilight implies she doesn't have dominion over it, which makes that name more fitting for Nocturnal, who Trevon indeed venerates (plus it's listed as one of Nocturnal's names on UESP).**

**No, it wasn't really a cliffhanger for anyone who's played the game. Perhaps in a conventional sense, but not for anyone in the know... which would be about 99% of people reading this. They're not something I use often anyway, but later... well, you'll see.**

**Anyhow, on with the chapter. And yes, the chapter title is the name of the quest ingame, but it seemed fitting.**

* * *

**Chapter Two: A Knife in the Dark**

Nadia's reaction was immediate. She drew her dagger and threw herself at the source of the voice, an insubstantial shimmering in the darkness. Her thrusting blade found nothing but empty air, and she staggered past her target, barely catching herself on the door. A sharp ringing sounded in her ears as she triggered her own ward, further disorientating her. She turned just in time to see Trevon strike at the formless shadow, only to miss completely and get thrown into her. His muscular bulk crushed her against the door, forcing the air from her lungs. She slumped as he stepped away from her, placing a hand on his back to stay standing.

The voice laughed. "Patience, my dear children. I mean you no harm." It was a poisonous voice, laced with danger, yet smooth as silk. Nadia tried to cast a spell of life detection, but the spell would not even start to form; she was Silenced.

"Who are you?" demanded Trevon, clenching his fists as he crouched, glaring towards the source of the voice. It was completely dark in the room; their eyes could only make out indistinct shapes, but there was a slight ripple in the air next to the window.

"I am Lucien Lachance, a Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood. And you... you are killers. Murderers." The last word was caressed lovingly, as though he was speaking about a dear friend.

"How do you know that?" rasped Nadia, pushing herself away from the door to stand beside her brother, dagger clenched in her hand.

"There are eyes that see more than you know, my dear child. The Night Mother has been watching your work for some time, and she is... most pleased."

Nadia would have exchanged a worried glance with her brother had he not been fixated on the ripple in the air before them. They'd both heard of the Dark Brotherhood, of course, and they'd murdered many times in the past, but this was entirely unexpected. Their assailant didn't seem to be out to kill them, but she refused to trust anyone with a voice like that, and the ease at which he'd disabled them made her even more cautious. "Why are you here?"

"To extend to you an... offer. An invitation to join our rather unique family. You end life without mercy or remorse." Lachance paused, as though savouring the moment. "Killing can be such a fine art, and you have shown your... potential."

Trevon finally stopped staring at the intruder and turned his head towards her. They shared a glance, each knowing exactly what the other was thinking: _Can we trust him?_ Nadia turned to look at where the Speaker's head might be. That prickling on the back of her neck she'd felt back on the road returned, but a thousand times worse; it was as though someone was peering into her very soul, weighing and examining her each and every action, knowing her thoughts, her feelings... she shuddered, instinctively clutching her brother's arm for reassurance. The tension in his rock-hard muscles was evident. "Show yourself," she demanded, her voice more unsteady than she'd like.

The intruder silently stepped forward, the air rippling as he cast a spell. A dim light appeared above and behind him, just enough to illuminate the room. With another motion, he dispelled his spell of concealment. Blinking as her eyes adjusted, Nadia peered at the now-visible figure in front of them. A cloak as dark as midnight covered him from head to toe, his hood pulled up to obscure his face. The angle of the light made it impossible to see anything other than his chin and the hint of a smile devoid of any pleasure or comfort. "One does not survive long in my... profession, if they are not willing to take precautions." His lips curved further upwards as he reached out a black-gloved hand. "Join me... join _us_, kill for the glory of Sithis, and revel in the appreciation of your true talents."

"Let's hear it," growled Trevon.

Lachance lowered his hand, his smile growing wider before fading entirely as his tone became more brisk, more businesslike. "On the Green Road to the north of Bravil lies the Inn of Ill Omen. There you will find a man named Rufio. Kill him." The smile returned, a flash of white teeth visible from the shadows. "His death will complete your initiation into the Dark Brotherhood."

"And if we refuse?" asked Nadia.

His smile turned to a sneer. "That would be... unwise." He held out his hand again; this time, a dagger appeared in it as though it had been summoned. The naked blade was ebony, black and unadorned, about as long as Trevon's hand. A small guard was formed by a sinuous black snake crawling between the hilt and the blade. The hilt, also ebony, was elaborately engraved with golden inlay, representing what appeared to be ritual slaughter. "Allow me to present this gift from the Dark Brotherhood," said Lachance. "It is a virgin blade, and thirsts for blood. May it serve you well."

Nadia hesitated before slowly reaching out to take it from him. The ebony was cold in her palm, the engravings digging into her flesh slightly. She hefted it; the weight was perfectly balanced. "So that's it? Just kill Rufio, and we're in?"

"Rufio is merely... a test. The Night Mother knows your hearts, my dear children, and she knows that many souls will be sent to the Void by your hand." His voice dropped to a whisper. "It would be so terrible if you were to... disappoint her." He stepped back, spreading his arms. "Now, I bid you farewell. May Rufio's blood light your path to the Night Mother's embrace." Purple light flashed from his palms, and he vanished, taking his light with him.

Trevon had surged forward, attempting to stop him, but he skidded to a halt as the darkness enveloped everything again. The sounds of the night, previously suppressed by some spell, were now audible. "That was unexpected," he grunted, moving to peer out of the window.

Nadia didn't respond, instead staring at the dagger as she turned it over in her palm. "He said we would have a family," she eventually said, looking up to meet her brother's eyes. "Is it even possible? After all this time..."

"A family of assassins."

"And are we any different?" She laid her daggers on the table and moved closer, gripping his shoulders. "We always knew we wouldn't have to keep going in this... existence forever. Why not start something new, _now_?"

He sighed. "You know you're the only family I'll ever need." He stepped forward and hugged her, his strong arms stopping just short of making her ribs creak. "But whatever makes you happy, I'll do it. Killing one man is an easy price to pay to get you a... to get you someone other than me."

She smiled as she leaned her chin on his shoulder. "It's for _both_ of us. Finally we might just find safety, and not have to keep moving all over Tamriel every time we make some money. We can stop looking over our shoulders every few seconds." Already she was forgetting the terror that had gripped her when the Speaker had first appeared; already her mind was moving on to the potential of his offer.

Trevon shook his head. "You can. But only because I'll be looking over your shoulder for you." He drew back and turned to glance out the window. "It's nearly dawn, as far as I can tell. We should be going."

"Yeah, you're right. Hopefully that inn won't be too hard to find, with a name like that." As her brother started preparing, Nadia picked up the dagger Lachance had given her and looked at it, the engravings barely visible in the dim light. He had called it a virgin blade, and somehow she could almost sense its hunger. The Redguard smiled; soon she would give it what it wanted, and in return find the sanctuary, the safety that she had always craved.

* * *

They rode hard through the day, not stopping until they reached an inn not far from Skingrad. The Merchant's Rest was somewhat larger than the Gottshaw Inn, with three storeys and an expansive stable, clearly built on the profits of trade along the Gold Road. Numerous carts were sitting in a field behind the building, and the stable was nearly full of horses. Despite the late hour, an ostler was on duty to take their mounts, offering no comment when Trevon shouldered the bag of featherweight gold and carried it into the inn.

While Nadia negotiated beds and meals for both of them, he threaded his way through the crowded common room and selected a small table as close to the wall as possible. Tossing the bag under the table, he threw his cloak over the back of a chair and sat down on it, ignoring the creaking; soon he'd be able to add lightening and muffling enchantments to his armour as well as the existing magic that helped him blend into any darkness. Tugging off his gauntlets, he looked around for anyone of interest; most of the other patrons were nondescript travellers or merchants, though a few Imperial Guardsmen in full armour were sat at a table near the door.

His sister joined him, placing two tankards of ale on the table before sitting across from him, lazily putting her feet up on a spare chair. "I ordered food. Hopefully enough meat to stop your complaining stomach from keeping me awake all night."

He grunted and took a swig of ale, noting the rich earthy flavour. "Better than horse piss," he commented.

"High praise from you." She peered into the depths of her tankard, clearly avoiding the obvious talking point. "So, what are you planning on spending your share on?"

"More enchantments. My armour already fades into shadow easily, but I'd rather not have to rely on my magic to muffle the sound it makes. A featherweight enchantment would be good as well." He rubbed his chin, scratching at the stubble that was starting to form along his jawline. "What about you? Yet another deadly addition to a sabre that can already kill with one scratch?"

She chuckled. "No, no, I haven't thought of much, yet." Her smile faded and she fell silent, thumbing the hilt of the ebony dagger on her belt. The blade seemed to drink the flickering light of the torches; shadows played across its surface, but they were all dark shades of grey. "This dagger feels... different, somehow."

"Try it out on Rufio."

"So it's actually happening. We're joining the Dark Brotherhood." Trevon glanced around to see if anyone had understood; there were no other Redguards within earshot, but he wasn't foolish enough to assume that they were the only ones in the common room who could speak Yoku. Ignoring her brother's caution, Nadia leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table and staring into his eyes. "I'm... nervous."

The quaver in her voice snapped his attention back to her, and he met her eyes, detecting the slightest hint of fear in them. He suppressed a grimace as the memories came flooding back; he'd hoped to never see that expression again, but it was a fool's hope in a world like this.

_His heart was heavy, and it grew even heavier as he forced himself to meet his sister's eyes. She was only five, and was looking up at him with the kind of innocence that he knew she would never find again. There was a hint of fear and uncertainty in her gaze, but he could tell that she was confident that he would make things right. It broke his heart that he couldn't. "Will... will papa be coming back soon?" she asked, the tremor in her voice unconcealed by the end of the braid that she was unconsciously chewing._

_Trevon managed to fight back the tears that he'd been so eager to shed less than an hour ago as his father had been coughing up blood, his breath rattling in his throat as he had struggled to cling to life for just a few more moments. "Don't be a coward, boy," Taran managed to rasp. "I raised you better than that. Your sister's going to need you. Stay strong." He managed a laugh that sounded more like a wheeze. "Everyone dies." The young Redguard had clasped his father's hand as the once-mighty strength went from his body, his chest heaving his last breath. There had been no tears. He had to be strong._

"_He's not coming back," he forced himself to tell Nadia. "He's dead." He wrapped his arms around her, hugging her fragile body close to his, squeezing her like she was the last thing he had in this world. Which, he realised, she was. He felt her body quiver as she started sobbing into his chest, and he forced himself to steel his heart. He had no idea what would happen next, but no matter what life threw at them, he would be strong for his sister. No matter what._

"Don't look at me like that," growled Nadia, her eyebrows drawing down. "I know that look, it means you're about to start treating me like I'm some glass statue. I'm not about to shatter at a gust of wind, I'm..." She sighed. "I'm just a bit nervous, is all. It's the Dark Brotherhood."

"He wouldn't have recruited us if he thought we were going to fall to pieces upon joining. I doubt they make virgin sacrifices every day and go to sleep in a bath of blood." He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. "Besides, you said it yourself; we'll have safety and security – _proper_ safety and security – for the first time in years, if it's going to be like what Lachance made it out to be. That chance is worth it."

Nadia looked sideways at nothing in particular, a slight smirk appearing on her face. "And, as always, you manage to say something that reassures me. How do you _do_ that?" She clearly didn't expect an answer, and any further conversation was halted by the arrival of a weary-looking barmaid with their food.

Trevon looked down at his plate without enthusiasm – he had yet to find cooks outside Hammerfell who knew how to use spices properly – but soon he was tackling the small mountain of nondescript meat and vegetables with gusto. It was nourishing, if nothing else. Even while eating, he kept an eye on their surroundings, looking for anyone watching them or making suspicious moves. His sister, trusting him to watch for danger, had no such constraints and was eating eagerly, gravy running down her chin.

Hopefully the alarm wouldn't be raised for some time, by which time they would have killed Rufio and presumably been taken to the Brotherhood's place of safety. The Bosmer merchants hadn't been expected in Skingrad by anyone as far as he could tell, and it was unlikely that a Legion patrol would stumble across them unless they were specifically looking for them. They were safe for now, but they'd have to move quickly. Mentally he started running over a map of Cyrodiil in his head, trying to calculate how long it would take them to locate the Inn of Ill Omen; Lachance hadn't given them an exact location, but it shouldn't be too hard to find.

As so often happened, his sister broke his train of thought. "D'you reckon they'll be fine with your... fanaticism?" There was a hint of caution in her voice. Even she knew to tread carefully around this subject.

He snorted. "They're assassins. I'm surprised they spurn the Mistress of Shadows in favour of this... Sithis." He stopped just short of lacing his voice of contempt. "I don't pretend to be an expert, but I would not call the Void tangible. My Lady... _is_." He reverently touched the black raven embossed on his breastplate. At a thought, the blackness would spread out to cover his entire suit of armour, but the dark blue tint already melded into the shadows well enough.

"You don't have to remind me," muttered Nadia before taking a swig of ale. "That lockpick certainly comes in handy."

He gave her an icy stare. "The Skeleton Key is no mere lockpick. Every day it remains in my possession is a blessing from my Lady."

"I know, I know, you've told me already." She made a placating gesture before going back to tearing her meat apart, changing the subject. "Do you think they're all going to be like... _him_?" There was no need to ask who she meant; the Brotherhood's recruiter had left a lasting impression.

"No doubt they picked him to make an interesting first impression on potential recruits. I don't _think_ the rest will be much like him. Probably." The ease with which Lucien had rendered them helpless still rankled, but such effectiveness was to be expected from a group like the Dark Brotherhood. "There's no doubt they're good at what they do. I just wonder how they noticed us..."

"I _did_ say I felt eyes on us the night we killed those traders. Maybe they've got ways of seeing that we can't detect..." She looked around nervously as though expecting to see the walls sprouting eyes.

"Clearly they have. There are many things in the world we don't understand." He dropped his knife and fork onto his cleared plate, having barely noticed what he was eating. Taking a swig from his tankard, he took another look around. No one appeared to be paying any attention to them. "He didn't give us much information about Rufio. We'll probably have to plan as we go."

"Which is something we've never done before," she muttered sarcastically, poking at a potato.

"Escaping from the Redoran at Blacklight by the skin of our teeth is not something I want to repeat," growled Trevon, setting down his empty tankard. "Come on, hurry up with that. I want to be gone before the sun comes up tomorrow. I take it you got us a room?"

She bit her lip and gave him that slightly guilty look he knew so well. "There... weren't enough bedrooms left that were big enough for the both of us," she told him in a rush. "So I got us the hayloft instead. At least it's big enough, even if we'll have to share the bedroll. And it's cheap."

Trevon snorted. "As long as we don't have to share it with a merchant's guard getting _entertained_ by a local farmer's daughter." He shook his head before grinning, reaching out to grip the back of his sister's neck, squeezing it slightly. "Ah, wipe that expression off your face. We've slept in worse places. Remember that rocky outcropping that we huddled under during an ash storm on Vvardenfell?"

"It was better than that time we were caught in a sudden blizzard in Skyrim," chuckled Nadia, grinning despite the grim memory. "How we didn't freeze to death, I have no idea." She pushed her plate away and stood, grabbing her cloak from the back of her chair. Trevon emulated her, throwing the bag of money over his shoulder. "I already paid; my coinpurse is getting a bit light, but..." She smiled at the wealth they'd so recently inherited and led the way out of the common room without finishing her sentence. He followed her, his gaze sweeping the room, alert for anyone who might take a second glance at them.

The ostler in the stable pointed them up to the hayloft, accessible through a trapdoor in the ceiling. Nadia grabbed their bedroll from Whisper's saddle and scrambled up, making sure to cast a Feather spell on Trevon's armour before he made the ascent; even then the narrow ladder creaked threateningly. Once he was through he pulled the ladder up behind them, slamming the trapdoor on the ostler's protests. Conjuring a globe of light to hover above his head, he rose to a crouch and looked around.

A single tiny window was set high up at the end of the building, beyond the heavy beams supporting the roof. The floor was covered thickly in hay; Nadia was busy trying to smooth a portion of it out enough to lay their bedroll on it. There was no doubt that they would be itching tomorrow morning, but at least the loft was big enough to stand up and move around in. Keeping half an eye on the trapdoor, he started to strip off his armour, letting it drop into the hay, ignoring the furious scuttling sound as he disturbed what he presumed to be mice.

"I'm not sure what's going to be sharper; the hay or your elbows." Nadia finished laying out the bedroll, which was barely wide enough for both of them. "At least it's a mild enough night, you can nick the blanket all you want."

He snorted as he eased off his greaves. 'Mild' was being generous. Even though some of the summer's heat was lingering into Hearthfire, he still found it colder than he liked in Cyrodiil. "Make your wards. The window as well."

She looked from him to the window, which was large enough to admit perhaps a fox, but nothing bigger. The dirt encrusting the glass was so thick they could barely see the dark clouds through it. "He's not going to trouble us _tonight_."

"I know. These are just normal precautions."

"If the window ward wakes us up because an owl flies into it, you're sleeping with Farstrider," she complained, crawling over to ward the trapdoor. Trevon snorted and tugged his shirt over his head, carefully laying it on top of his breastplate to ensure it picked up as little hay as possible. He hid a small smile as his sister finished her spells and began stripping off her armour, grumbling loudly enough to wake half the inn. "From the _precautions_ you take, you'd think we're on the most wanted lists of every part of the Empire with bounty hunters dogging our every step."

"Some healthy caution stops that from ever happening." He folded his trousers atop his shirt and crawled onto the bedroll, leaving his sword belt and shield within arm's reach. "Besides... in future... _if_ we make it into the Brotherhood..."

"You'll still look at everyone like they're trying to slip poison into your ale and plotting to stab us when our backs are turned," she muttered, rolling her eyes as she lay down beside him, grabbing most of the blanket from him. He dispelled his Light spell and yanked it back so they each got their fair share. "Sometimes, Trev, I think you _like_ being paranoid just to annoy me."

"I love you too, sister." He shifted to get comfortable, trying to ignore both the hay poking him and the occasional prod from Nadia as she took far longer to settle.

"Trev?"

"What?"

"I've got a good feeling about this."

"The last time you said that, we got caught in an avalanche and nearly got eaten by frost trolls."

She chuckled and poked him in the ribs. "Hey, we got out of that alive and with enough gold to put that absorbing enchantment on my blade, didn't we?" She sighed, her breath tickling the side of his neck. "But, really, I think this might be one of the best things that's happened to us since we left Hammerfell."

Trevon stared up at the ceiling. "I hope you're right, Nadia," he said eventually. "I hope you're right."

* * *

There were no nightly disturbances, nor was there any interruption in the days of their rapid ride towards Bravil. Once they turned onto the Green Road, Trevon disguised himself using Illusion and asked a passing Legion patrol for directions to the Inn of Ill Omen; it was obvious to spot, they told him, just past the Faregyl Inn that they wholeheartedly recommended as better accommodation. It was approaching dusk as they neared their destination; having mulled over several differing plans on their way there, they'd eventually agreed on thinking up a course of action when they actually knew what the situation would be like.

The Inn of Ill Omen was a tiny, ramshackle building that looked in dire need of maintenance. Its sign, depicting a crow and faded lettering, was barely clinging to one rusted chain, and weeds were growing right up to the rotting door. The stables were merely a few stalls with a hide roof, and were already occupied by two large black horses, who took up most of the limited room available. Nadia got Whisper settled down with no trouble, but Farstrider was sharing glares with the two black brutes, and Trevon was making sure his stallion was kept as far away from them as possible.

"A storm's brewing," noted Trevon as she walked over, nodding up at the dark clouds rolling over the orange sky to the west. He heaved the sack of gold off Farstrider and dumped it into the sparse hay. "I'd rather not take this in with us if we need to make a quick exit. Cast a Burden on it then I'll cover it with an illusion."

After hiding their fortune they walked into the inn, the door almost falling off its hinges as Trevon shoved it open. A heavy gust of wind struck the building as they entered, the rotting timbers creaking in protest. Nadia kicked the door shut behind them and looked around, squinting into the dimness. There were few torches lit and the grime on the windows disrupted what little light there was outside. The common room was tiny; a few tables were scattered around a stone hearth whose fire did nothing to diminish the damp chill in the air.

The dreary establishment clearly did little to attract customers; a Redguard sat alone near a window gazing out at the approaching storm, and two Orcs were having an animated discussion at a table near the door. Apart from them the only occupant of the common room was a stocky, greying Nord who had looked up with incredulity at the sound of the door opening. "Stendarr's beard!" he exclaimed, his voice booming to match the thunder outside. "More customers? Must be my lucky day. More travellers today than in the last week. Thank Kynareth for that storm, eh, Minerva?" The Redguard glanced over and smiled indulgently.

Nadia grinned and walked over to the counter. "Got any spare beds?" she asked.

The innkeeper either ignored or was oblivious to the slight mocking tone in her voice. "Of course! You'll have to sleep upstairs because all the private quarters are taken, but there are at least two rooms up there that barely leak at all!" He beamed at her as though a barely-leaking room in a thunderstorm was the best place to sleep in the world. "They are a bit on the small side, so you'll have to have one each, I'm afraid, but they're only five gold per night."

"We'll take them." She kept smiling as she slapped ten drakes on the table, hoping with all her heart that they never had to even step inside the frozen, wet cubicles that no doubt passed for rooms in this festering hovel. At least he was cheap. "A tankard of ale and something to eat each as well."

"Four drakes. It's not the Tiber Septim Hotel, but I can rustle you up something hot, at least. Most days, anyway." Her gold swiftly disappeared into a pocket of his filthy apron. "Have a seat, have a seat."

Nadia tried not to think of what they would soon be eating as she led Trevon over to the table closest to the fire. "Hopefully we're not here for too long," she observed, switching to Yoku as they sat down. Trevon's chair creaked alarmingly before splintering and collapsing beneath him. "Lose weight," she remarked, chuckling as he picked himself up and grabbed another chair that didn't seem quite so badly rotted.

"He might be in those private quarters the innkeep mentioned." Her brother shot a distrustful look at the two Orcs before glancing sideways at Minerva. She seemed engrossed in the storm outside, but she would be within earshot if they didn't speak quietly. "Keep your voice down."

"For once I'm not going to remark on your paranoia, dear brother," replied Nadia, lowering her voice to just above a whisper. "I'm not averse to watching and waiting. We don't exactly have much else to do right now, except avoid getting poisoned by whatever swill this place has to offer."

'Something hot' turned out to be a few hunks of ancient preserved meat that had been boiled just enough to make it slightly edible. It was hard enough to blunt their eating knives, so they had to resort to using their daggers to cut it. The ale was watery and weak. Trevon took one swig, pushed his tankard aside, and drank from his hip-flask instead. As they ate the innkeeper came and sat with them, keeping up a constant stream of chatter about failing business, the crumbling Empire, the weather, the affectations of the resident Redguard, and how unusual it was to get four new customers at once. Manheim Maulhand talked about everything and anything; eventually Nadia managed to tease a few comments about Rufio out of him.

"Rufio? Just an old codger who's been living here for a couple weeks now. Keeps to himself. Barely leaves his room. I'll be taking his meal down to him soon." The Nord looked around conspiratorially before leaning forward with a knowing smile and a waggle of his eyebrows. "You ask me, he's hiding from something. But I don't care, not so long as he pays his tab. Divines know I don't get much custom as it is. Him and Minerva are the only two regulars I have."

"It's a wonder you can keep such a fine establishment running," Nadia told him, returning his smile with interest and laying a hand on his arm, careful to keep any sarcasm from her voice, though she doubted the innkeep would recognise sarcasm if it hit him in the face with a hammer.

"Oh, I do well enough. The Faregyl Inn can't steal _all_ my custom." He chuckled and leaned closer. "And it's good to have someone different to talk to. Those Orcs gave me _such_ a look when I tried to join them." He glanced over at the two Orsimer whose conversation seemed to be growing more heated. "If only you'd come in an hour earlier, I could have given you the spare room downstairs. They're far more spacious and there's no risk of leaking, but..." The Nord spread his arms helplessly. "Rufio has one and they took the other one."

Nadia grinned at him. "No matter. It'll be better than lying under our cloaks in a soaking bush."

"Aye, that be true." Manheim frowned up at the ceiling, which was looking decidedly damp in places. "I hope the storm lets up soon. The timbers don't like it." He shook his head and slowly got to his feet. "I'll go and prepare your rooms. Unless you'd like more to eat...?" They both shook their heads. "Good, good." He backed away, bowing before turning to head upstairs.

"Not bad," remarked Trevon, cleaning his dagger with a cloth. "So we know where Rufio is-" he nodded to a trapdoor just under the stairs "-and that he'll be alone."

"Now all we need is a plan and an opportunity." She stroked the hilt of the weapon Lachance had given them.

"Indeed." Her brother sheathed his dagger then leaned his elbows on the table. "I had a thought. I could-" he cut off as the conversation of the two Orcs at the nearby table suddenly got a lot louder. "What in Oblivion are those two greenskins shouting about?" he muttered, glaring across at them.

Nadia looked over at the other customers and frowned; she knew a fair bit of Orcish, but it wasn't easy to translate when the pair were arguing loudly with thick Orsinium accents.

"...got potential, but don't think you're the successor to the bloody Grey Prince," the older womer was saying. She wasn't large by Orc standards, but even so she was as tall as Trevon, and her shoulders were nearly as wide. Chainmail covered her from her neck to the top of her leather boots, and a long heavy mace leaned against the table beside her. Her hard, weather-worn face bore its fair share of scars, and her black hair was scraped back into a pair of war braids that reached the middle of her back. She pounded a fist into her palm as though to make a point. "Agronak won't throw you in at-"

"I'm not interested in wasting my time on weaklings!" her companion retorted, slamming her fists onto the table hard enough to make it creak in protest. She was younger than the other Orc, barely out of childhood if Nadia's guess was accurate. Most of her body was protected by riveted leather armour, and several throwing axes hung from straps criss-crossing her torso. Her glossy mane of unbound shoulder-length hair was a shade of deep red that definitely wasn't natural, certainly not for an Orsimer. The colour of her hair was certainly a match for her temper if their argument was anything to go by. "I'd have fought _Daedra_ if you hadn't kept me back yourself. I've killed _bandits_, how hard can the Arena be?"

"Listen to someone who's fought in it, girl," growled the older Orc. "No one gets special treatment. Underestimate the Arena and it kills you. You wouldn't have lasted ten seconds against a good Dremora. Oblivion killed your father, or have you forgotten already?"

Nadia shook her head, losing interest and turning back to Trevon. "Mother arguing with her daughter, looks like." She sighed, leaning back to peer at the ceiling. Their mother had died giving birth to her. She hadn't even known what she looked like; Trevon's few memories of her were vague.

Her brother leaned his chin on his hand and studied her, considering. "I have an idea. We might be able to make it look like they did it. Manheim said they were sleeping downstairs, next door to Rufio..."

A sly grin spread across her face. "If we can pull that off... all right, genius, let's hear it."

Trevon opened his mouth but was cut off by the younger Orc surging to her feet, throwing back her chair, her voice rising to a shout as she glared down at her mother. Nadia reached out to try and stop Trevon from reacting, but he was already on his feet, spinning to stare at them with his hand resting on the hilt of his falchion. "_Will you bloody greenskin cunts shut the fuck up?_"

His bellow was still reverberating as the younger Orc twisted to face him. She was at least as tall as him and nearly as wide, but the snarl distorting her face didn't hide her youth. Nadia leaned back in her seat, knowing that Trevon could handle her easily unless her mother joined in. Minerva's attention had finally been diverted from watching the storm outside; she stood uncertainly, clearly wondering whether to call for Manheim or not. The older Orc shook her head in annoyance but made no move to join her daughter.

Redguard and Orc glowered at each other for a bare second before she shrieked a war cry and leapt at him, her fist darting for his throat. Trevon grabbed her arm and yanked her forward, burying his knee in her stomach. As she doubled over he smashed his elbow into her back, sending her slamming onto the stone floor.

"Worn out from getting fucked by goats?" he spat down at her.

The Orsimer scrambled to her knees, giving him a look of utter hate as she paused to draw breath. Manheim rushed down the stairs then paused, eyes widening as he took in the scene before him. Nadia casually took a swig of ale. It was never going to be a fair contest; Trevon might scrape his bare hands on her leather, but she had no hope of getting through his plate armour with nothing but her fists.

"Now, you-" Trevon was cut off as the young Orc threw herself forward, wrapping her arms around his thighs and dragging them both to the ground with a crash that was probably loud enough to wake Rufio. Her brother grunted and tried to rise, fisting her in the ribs, but she ignored it and landed an uppercut hard enough to make his head rebound back from the stone floor. Nadia grimaced but stayed sitting; she'd seen Trevon fight off much worse than her before. The Orc's mother was watching intently, idly rubbing the pommel of her shortsword.

The Redguard dodged another blow and forced his knee upward into her groin, reaching up and pushing her off him. She reacted quickly and landed a fierce chop to the side of his neck that stunned him momentarily, allowing her to kick him in the chest, sending him crashing into a nearby table. He scrambled to his feet quickly enough to catch her arm as she attempted to grab his braid. Seizing her other arm, he picked her up and slammed her down on the table, splitting it in half. Ignoring Manheim's cries of protest, he grabbed a handful of her hair and smashed her head into the floor. She struggled and tried to rise, but he pressed a knee against her back, continuing to pound her head until blood started to smear on the stones. He leaned on the back of her head to push himself to his feet, looking down at her with what might have been a shred of respect.

As he stepped back the Orc shoved herself up and tried to throw herself at his legs again, but this time he simply lashed out with his foot, connecting with her chin powerfully enough to send her sprawling across the floor. This time, she didn't rise; she blinked several times, her eyes trying to focus. Blood was smeared across her face from several cuts on her temple and Trevon's kick had nearly split her chin in two.

At last the older Orc left her seat, kneeling beside her daughter, barely sparing a glance for Trevon. "Stupid fool," she muttered in Common. "Always letting your bloody temper get you into fights you can't win yet." She took a small potion from her belt and poured the contents down her daughter's throat.

Trevon grunted and tossed a few coins to Manheim without asking the shocked innkeeper exactly how much the table would cost to replace. He made his way over to their table, sitting down while rubbing knuckles that he'd scraped on his opponent's armour. "Took you longer than normal," observed Nadia.

"She's a cut above your average senseless drunk," replied Trevon, glancing over his shoulder as the mother dragged her daughter back to their table. Manheim stood in the middle of his common room, wringing his hands and clearly wondering if he should say something. "Doesn't hold anything back. That makes her vulnerable, though."

"Still think you can make them look guilty of our crime?"

The corner's of Trevon's mouth quirked upward into what for him was a wide smile. "I'm certain of it." He glanced around and lowered his voice, though the storm battering the inn made it hard to overhear anyone. "We wait until the Orcs go down there to bed. I can create an illusion of myself here and sneak down there invisibly. I can't maintain both spells at once for long, but it should be enough to kill Rufio and get back here, as long as you can keep anyone from noticing the illusion."

Nadia thought it over and found that she was grinning. "You'll fit right into the Brotherhood." Once again, she felt a twinge of jealousy at his mastery of Illusion magic, but it faded quickly; she could be much more versatile in her use of magic than he was. "I'll cast a Detect Life spell on you so you know which room is his. Are you sure you'll be able to maintain the illusion for long enough?"

"I can let the invisibility go once I'm out of sight, and silencing my movements doesn't take much out of me." He took a small potion from his belt; the ring around the neck was blue rather than the red used to identify healing potions. "This will give me a boost in an emergency. I'll make my illusion look like it's sleeping; the less complex it is, the better. You do what you do best and distract anyone who looks at it."

"Won't be hard with this crowd." Nadia took the ebony dagger and passed it to him under the table. "It feels right that you should use that. Just a feeling."

"Ebony cuts better than steel in any case." Trevon tucked the dagger behind his belt and glanced at the Orcs. "Now we just wait for them to go to bed." He rubbed the back of his head, hiding a wince. "Hopefully my headache will have gone by then. If she'd hit me any harder my skull might have cracked."

She leaned forward, laying a hand on his neck. The cool blue light of a healing spell spread over Trevon's head; while complex Restoration magic was beyond her, she could manage that much, at least. He shrugged his shoulders and grunted in appreciation.

Time passed. Calm settled over the inn after the brief excitement, with Manheim clearing away the broken table and going to sit with Minerva, occasionally shooting nervous glances at Trevon and the Orcs. The storm raged on, with small puddles starting to form on the stone floor. There was no way of knowing if full night was upon them or not; the darkness of the clouds outside were unchanged. Trevon idly dipped his finger in his ale and traced random patterns on the table, but Nadia could tell that every fibre of his being was alert, just waiting for an opportunity.

Thankfully, it wasn't long before the Orcs rose from their seats. The younger collected her weapons and moved sullenly towards the trapdoor leading to the private quarters, but the older hesitated before walking over to their table. "What do you want, greenskin?" asked Trevon, his voice sharp as he rested a hand on his sword hilt.

"A word, sandcrawler." Trevon took a firmer grip on his weapon, and Nadia's mouth tightened, but the Orc went on regardless. "She might have the shortest temper Orsinium has ever seen, but Voltha is still a good fighter, yet you barely broke a sweat." She looked both of them up and down appraisingly; her eyes held the wisdom of many past battles. "I have no idea who you are, but consider the Arena. Easy money for someone like you."

Trevon snorted. "I have no intention of squandering my talents pandering to a baying mob of ignorant Imperials," he grated. "If you want a fight, we can do it here, or outside, or anywhere but that sandpit."

The Orc made a non-committal gesture. "It would be a good fight. You might even test me. But not here, not now." She shrugged and stepped away from their table. "You go your own way, sandcrawler. But if you ever decide to try the Arena, tell Agronak that Mogak gra-Shagren can speak for your ability." She turned to go, swinging her long mace up to rest on her shoulder. "For now, try not to drown in the rooms that Manheim's forced on you. That would be a waste of a decent warrior."

Nadia frowned at the Orsimer's retreating back. She and her brother had been to the Arena a few times, but it held no appeal to either of them; they were far safer – and much richer – doing what they had been doing since they'd left Skaven. Trevon had already put the Orc out of his mind. "Time to strike," he muttered. He shifted around in his chair, pushing it back. "Cast a Detect Life spell on me." She did so, casting one on herself as well, keeping her hands below the table so Manheim and Minerva wouldn't notice. "Does it look like I'm sleeping?"

He had slumped in his chair, chin slipping down to rest on his chest, with his eyes closed. "It'll do," she said. "Hopefully the other two won't come close enough to notice." There was no outward change; Trevon stayed sitting, slumped in his chair, but his pink life signature rose and moved around the table without a sound. Nadia peered forward and studied the illusion he'd summoned to sit in his place. Any casual observer would see no difference between the illusion and the real Trevon, though their hand would pass through the illusion like mist if they tried to touch it. "It's fine. Shadow hide you, brother." She said the words with none of the religious reverence he attached to them, but she still meant them. She felt his hand squeeze her shoulder before his life signature was leaving her, walking towards the trapdoor, the sound of his footsteps silenced by his magic.

Thankfully, the trapdoor wasn't visible from where Manheim and Minerva were sitting; Nadia watched her invisible brother open it, climb down and close it behind him. Leaning back in her chair, she tried to appear relaxed, but her stomach was already clenching in a tight knot of anxiety. She knew her brother was highly capable, and the mere thought of a feeble old man posing a threat to him was laughable, but she was worried nonetheless. She always did when he was in danger. Forcing herself to unclench her fists, she settled down to wait, staring at the sleeping illusion across from her.

* * *

Trevon let his invisibility spell dissipate as he walked down the narrow corridor. The effort of maintaining both his illusion spell upstairs and the silencing spell masking his footsteps was draining his magical energy, but he was confident he could kill Rufio and make it back without resorting to his potion. There were only two doors in the corridor, which was lit by the flickering light of two small torches at either end. The door closest to the trapdoor was occupied by two moving life signatures, but the further room held only one, who appeared to be lying horizontally. If Rufio was asleep, this would be almost too easy.

He reached the door and tried to push it open. It was locked, but that was no surprise. Nadia's Alteration would have had the lock open within seconds, but there were other ways of dealing with a lock. From his belt pouch he took an odd-looking lockpick; the grey leather of the handle was soft and supple, while the several metal prongs almost seemed to shift as he looked at them. The Skeleton Key was far from an ordinary lockpick, but today it would be used as one. He thrust the prongs into the lock and waited; he had utterly no skill with a pick, but Nocturnal's artefact did all the work for him. Within seconds there was a click and the door swung open. Withdrawing the device, he slipped it back into his belt pouch, stepped into the room and looked around.

The room was small and unadorned; a wardrobe took up the entirety of the far wall, and a small table stood next to the bed, holding two candles whose light was the only illumination of the room. After glancing around to make sure he was alone, Trevon walked over to the bed, drawing the ebony dagger as he looked down at the man he was about to kill.

Rufio lay on the bed, fully clothed in a ragged linen tunic. He was asleep, but his sleep did not seem peaceful; he mumbled to himself, shuddering from time to time. His pale, wrinkled head was mostly bald, save for a tonsure of thinning white hair. He had the look of a man who had lost a lot of weight in a short space of time. The sallow skin on his bare arms hung loosely, and his hands looked too large in proportion to the rest of his body. Trevon found himself wondering what he had done to attract the wrath of someone desperate enough – or angry enough – to request the Dark Brotherhood's aid. He looked like a harmless old man, but even harmless old men could hide dark secrets.

Stepping closer, he raised the dagger. He had lost count of how many he had murdered, and he doubted this one would feel any different. He had murdered his first man when he was seventeen, and he'd felt no remorse, but that had been a special case. Not long after that, he had murdered his second, and had felt some remorse. His third, fourth, and fifth had also sparked feelings of regret in him, but he had rapidly grown used to the nature of killing helpless victims. At the time, he would have murdered half the world to keep his sister safe. He still would, though these days she would probably do the same for him. He felt himself smiling as he prepared to snuff out yet another insignificant life; killing might be a necessary part of his life, but he would always enjoy it.

He pressed his free hand over Rufio's face; the Breton grunted and started awake, but Trevon was already slashing his throat open with brisk efficiency, twisting his victim's head to the side to avoid getting any of the blood on his gauntlets. Rufio struggled weakly, but the Redguard kept his hand pressed over his lower face until he stopped struggling. Blood pumping out of the cut across his throat was soon soaking the blanket. Stepping back, he wiped the ebony blade clean on his victim's trousers before returning it to his belt. He waited for the last sparks of the life signature to fade from Rufio's body before turning and leaving the room without a second glance.

Casting another invisibility spell as he walked past the other room, he quickly climbed up through the trapdoor and shut it behind him. Manheim and Minerva were still out of sight on the other side of the hearth. Conscious of his rapidly depleting reserves of magicka, he walked over to his table and sat down in his illusion, hastily arranging himself to sit in a similar position before dispelling all his maintained spells. If Manheim or Minerva had seen any sudden change in his position, they hadn't reacted.

Nadia gave him a relieved smile, leaning back in her chair and exhaling slightly. "I shouldn't have worried, really, but I couldn't help it," she admitted. "How did it go?"

"Simple. Walked in, cut his throat, walked out. It's a good blade." He handed it back to her under the table, letting himself feel a measure of satisfaction at a job well done, though they had yet to get out of the inn. "Now all we do is wait for someone to discover him. Manheim did say he'd be taking a tray down to him soon. Hopefully he doesn't forget." The Nord innkeeper was deep in conversation with Minerva, who was smiling and nodding with a vacant expression on her face.

"Hopefully this storm breaks before we have to leave." She looked out the windows and grimaced. "I don't like the idea of sleeping in that."

"We won't. We would ride as hard and fast as possible. Ideally we would reach Weye soon after nightfall tomorrow and sleep there." He smiled at the clear reluctance on her face. "Riding through a stormy night without sleep is a price worth paying for security."

"Yeah, yeah." She rolled her eyes. "It won't be the first time we've done something rather unpleasant in the name of 'security'." She raised her hands defensively as he arched an eyebrow. "I know, I know. It was only your precautions that kept us out of a Redoran cell back in Blacklight. But I reckon you'd be worried if I _didn't_ complain."

"I know you all too well. You complain about spending a night in a hedge, but you barely raised a grunt when that Orc almost took your leg off in Daggerfall."

"Well, complaining at him wouldn't have stopped him from finishing the job!" She chuckled and stretched, working her neck muscles. "Ah, but that was a good fight. Haven't had one like that in months. I never had any interest in the Arena, but at least we'd get a lot of fighting in there."

Trevon's disparaging answer was cut short by Manheim abruptly getting to his feet. "I'd better be taking Rufio's tray down to him," he announced to no one in particular, making his way over to the kitchen, his eyes flinching away from the two Redguards. Trevon ignored him and pulled his gauntlets back on.

"Doesn't look like the weather's going to be nice to us," sighed Nadia, rolling her eyes at the window. She remained outwardly relaxed, but he could tell that she was ready to snap into action in a heartbeat. Manheim shuffled out of the kitchen and clambered slowly down to the private quarters. Trevon feigned boredom, idly rubbing at an imaginary mark on his armour.

A crash and a scream were clearly audible from the direction of the trapdoor. Trevon leapt to his feet, throwing his chair back as he clutched the hilt of his falchion. "What was _that_?" he snarled, loudly enough for Minerva to clearly hear him. Nadia also stood, gripping her sabre, her eyes wide with faked shock. The scream came again, louder this time.

"Manheim!" Minerva sounded panicked as she raced over to the trapdoor, fear etched onto her features, but the innkeeper scrambled up through it before she could reach it. He was trembling, his face pale.

"Rufio's dead," he choked, stumbling and catching himself on a table. "Murdered. Throat slit." He sounded utterly terrified; in years past, Trevon might have felt some pity for him, but he had found that pity all too often got in the way of efficiency. Leather rasped as he drew his falchion.

"Dead?" he barked. "Murdered? What kind of inn do you keep, Manheim?" He looked around, checking all the windows as though an assailant might be climbing through one of them. Nadia had shifted closer to him, fear replacing shock on her face. He couldn't help but feel pride at how good an actor she was.

"It's... he's..." the innkeeper trailed off as Mogak jumped up through the trapdoor, shortsword in hand and glaring around. She'd removed her armour but still seemed ready to fight a war.

"What in Malacath's name is going on?" she demanded, fixing Manheim with a stern gaze as his knees finally collapsed. Minerva stood back slightly, wringing her hands, seeming almost paralysed with terror.

"Murdered in your inn?" bellowed Trevon, ignoring the Orc. "And you expect us to _sleep_ here?" He rammed his falchion back into its scabbard with much more force than necessary. "Get our cloaks, Nadia. I'd sooner sleep in a storm than under _this_ roof." He snarled at Manheim before stalking out into the rain, again ignoring Mogak's demand for information.

The night was dark and the rain was hammering down so hard he could barely see a few feet in front of his face, but he simply squared his shoulders and marched over to the stables. Nadia caught up with him quickly and handed him his cloak, already throwing her own around her shoulders. He imitated her; the wool would soon be soaked through in this downpour, but at least it would keep the rain from trickling down inside his armour. They were silent as they prepared their horses for departure as quickly as possible; it would be hard to be heard over the rain and the near-constant rumbling of thunder anyway. Farstrider and Whisper were not eager to leave what little shelter the inn offered them, but soon enough they were trotting through the rain, heading north.

"That was almost too easy," shouted Nadia, her grin visible from beneath the hood of her cloak. "Bet Manheim'll be having nightmares for weeks to come!"

A grim smile was Trevon's only response as he booted Farstrider to a gallop.

* * *

Nadia ran her hands over the door to their room at the Wawnet Inn, setting the wards that would alert her to any visitors. At least, she hoped they would; Lachance had found some way to bypass them. The fatigue from a day and a night's hard riding – most of it while soaked to the skin – didn't slow her down. She'd cast these same warding spells thousands of times before, and it would take more than exhaustion to stop her securing their place of rest for the night. Stepping away from the door, she went over and cast the same spell over the two windows.

It hadn't taken much to convince Trevon to hire the best room in the inn. It was the biggest inn in Weye, and as the town was assured of constant traffic, that meant it was three stories tall with extensive stables and even private dining rooms. The best room had clearly been designed with rich merchants and nobility in mind; large windows facing east would give a view of the sun rising over the Imperial City in the morning, and the blue carpets were thick and soft. Several sweet-smelling candles gave more than enough light to see despite the late hour. Simple but well-carved chairs sat against the walls alongside a large wardrobe, and the four-poster bed was massive enough to hold four people in comfort, let alone two. At least she wouldn't have to worry about Trevon's elbows tonight.

Her brother had already stripped off his armour and was poking around in one of the magical bags of gold they'd taken from the Bosmer. "If Lachance doesn't appear soon, we should head to the City tomorrow," he commented. "The Arcane University would be a good place to spend this."

"It'll certainly be nice to not have to listen to you clank around every time you move," she remarked, turning from the last window with a grin. "Not exactly the best kind of armour for an assassin."

"As opposed to your chitin that makes you stand out like a beacon at night?" He smirked as she poked her tongue out at him. "It's better than leather, make no mistake, but maybe you could find way to change the colour..."

"And end up looking as dour as you? No thanks. You already intimidate enough for both of us." She chuckled as she began stripping off her armour. "So, do you think he'll appear tonight?"

"Seems like him." He shoved the bag of coins back in the sack, tying the neck closed. "I'm not going to lose sleep waiting for him if he's not coming, though." He rubbed at his jawline, no doubt checking for stubble.

"And I'm not going to lose sleep waiting for _you_ to stop worrying whether you need to shave or not." She rolled her eyes, always slightly exasperated at the precision with which he kept his beard trimmed. Placing her boots at the foot of the bed, she moved to pull the curtains over the windows to hide the cloudy night from view. "At least-" She broke off to stifle a yawn. "At least we can sleep in an actual bed that doesn't have lumps in the mattress for the first time in forever."

Trevon stood and moved over to one of the chairs, glancing at the door before sitting down. "You sleep," he said. "I'll sit and think for a bit. Won't hurt for one of us to be awake if he somehow surprises us again." He turned away in a completely futile effort to hide his yawn.

She snorted as she stripped to her underwear. "You're no Bronze Shield, Trev. You're probably as tired as I am." Pulling back the blankets, she sank down into the bed, sighing in contentment as the feather mattress moulded itself to hold her body. Casting a telekinesis spell, she pinched out the candles one by one, leaving them in darkness. "Don't fall over walking to the bed," she warned her brother, turning onto her side and burying her head in a pillow. "And don't wake me up with your cold feet, either." She thought she heard him snort.

"Sleep well, Nadia." He received a sleepy grunt in response. She knew she should be more tense, not knowing if Lachance was suddenly going to materialise on top of them, but Trevon's presence let her relax. With him watching over her, she was safe. Sometimes she felt a bit stifled by his protectiveness, but it was comforting to know that anyone trying to harm her would have to go through him first. Exhausted from hard travel without rest, sleep claimed her quickly.

She was shaken awake some time later, disorientation replaced by alertness as Trevon muttered a warning in her ear. Sitting up in bed, she reached for the ebony dagger she'd left on the bedside table. Trevon was still fully dressed – knowing him, he hadn't even thought about sleep – and his falchion was gripped firmly in his right hand as he stared towards the corner of the room nearest the door. "Show yourself," he growled, raising his free hand. A globe of light bloomed above the bed, dim enough not to dazzle them but bright enough to illuminate the room.

A ripple in the air next to the door shimmered, coalescing into Lucien Lachance. As before, his cloak shrouded everything but a cruel smile. Nadia suppressed a shudder as she slid out of bed, moving to stand beside and slightly behind Trevon, blinking rapidly to force her eyes to adjust quickly. It was a relief to feel that she hadn't been Silenced. "Well done, my dear children," said Lachance, his soft voice managing to seem threatening and congratulatory at the same time. "The deed is done. The Blade of Woe thirsts no more. A most... efficient execution." His smile grew wider, and there was a hint of an acknowledging nod.

"What now?" asked Trevon. He stood poised on the balls of his feet despite the bed standing between them and Lachance.

"The slaying of Rufio was the signing of a covenant. The manner of execution, your signature. Rufio's blood, the ink. You are tied to us, now." His smile grew wider. Nadia suppressed a shiver. It still wasn't a nice smile. The assassin's tone grew more brisk. "As a Speaker of the Black Hand, I directly oversee part of our family. You will join that group, the Sanctuary in the city of Cheydinhal. Any resident of that city will tell you of a supposedly abandoned house near the eastern wall. In the basement you will find a black door. Answer its question thusly: 'Sanguine, my brother.'" Lachance caressed the words as he spoke them, almost as though he was addressing a lover.

"You will enter the Sanctuary, your new home. Speak to Ocheeva. She and rest of your new siblings will make you welcome." He pulled back his hood slightly enough to reveal the features of an Imperial in the prime of his years. His brown eyes were colder than death itself, and his intense gaze took in both of them. Nadia was suddenly reminded that she was mostly naked. Despite the situation she found herself blushing and edging further behind Trevon, who was slowly lowering his falchion. Lachance's expression softened slightly. Very slightly. "I am sure you have questions. We are hardly... forthcoming to outsiders, after all. But you are part of the family, now."

_Part of the family_. Trevon finally sheathed his falchion, exchanging a glance with Nadia, who had lowered the Blade of Woe. "This Sanctuary... it will be our home?" he asked.

Lachance nodded, stepping forward and spreading his arms as though to embrace them. "Yes. Your new home. Welcome. Welcome to the Dark Brotherhood."

* * *

**A/N: And so ends the second chapter. Yes, it followed the game pretty slavishly, but soon there'll be more originality; there'll be original contracts coming up, and more than just the standard DB plotline getting involved. As ever, let me know what you think with a review; just letting me know your thoughts is good, and constructive criticism is even better. Notably, I've actually decided to write a plan for this fic for the first time ever, to try and help me deal with the convoluted snarl of plot ideas I keep thinking up. Hopefully it'll go smoothly... and hopefully I won't keep you waiting for nearly half a year for the next chapter. Maybe I'll even get it finished before TES VI comes out, whenever that is.**


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